


Escape From Xerxes IV

by echo12



Series: Star Trek: Mawson [1]
Category: Star Trek
Genre: Andorian, F/F, First Meetings, First creative writing attempt, Rescue Missions, Starfleet, half-klingon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-06-28 17:17:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15711735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/echo12/pseuds/echo12
Summary: Two Starfleet lieutenants meet each other when they are assigned to their new posting on the USS Mawson. This is the story of their meeting, and their journey to what will be their new home.





	1. The Journey Begins

**Author's Note:**

> For the record: this story is set in the TNG/DS9/VOY era. The timing isn't too critical at this stage, but for the detail-oriented - of which I believe there are very few amongst Star Trek fans ;) - its about the same time as Deep Space Nine season 3/Voyager season 1, and close to Star Trek: Generations.

* * *

The mission was not going smoothly.

Like most Andorians, Jhamel sh’Shran was not prone to using sarcasm or understatement as a comedic device. However, as a descendant of the heroic leader General Thy’lek Shran, Supreme Commander of the Imperial Guard and chief proponent of Andoria’s alliance with Earth, Vulcan and Tellar that eventually led to the formation of the Federation, she’d been fascinated by humans since she was a child and was taught the stories of then-Commander Shran’s first encounters with the pink-skins. Combined with spending years on Earth while attending Starfleet Academy, Jhamel’s sense of humour had slowly evolved to incorporate it. It didn’t always work, but to be fair her jokes didn’t land with non-Andorians the way they did with her people. Maybe she hadn’t quite got a handle on conveying emotion and tone without relying on her antennae.

None of that would matter though if they didn’t get off this slush pile of a planet.

The mission was supposed to be a simple one. It wasn’t even that much of a mission really: as part of her new posting as Operations Manager on the Intrepid-class _U.S.S. Mawson_ , she was supposed to help deliver a new runabout to the ship. Though she had basic flight training like most Starfleet officers, both she and her instructors at the Academy had quickly discovered that she had no natural skill or aptitude as a pilot. The lieutenant had been quite relieved when she had kept reading the orders she’d received and discovered that joining her on the flight would be the _Mawson_ ’s new Conn Officer, Lieutenant N’Garan Rhodes.

But the mission changed en route...

* * *

Jhamel looked at herself in the mirror as she affixed her pips to the collar of her gold operations uniform. She was still getting used seeing the two full pips. The promotion to full lieutenant had come as part of the new assignment. The second pip was just a little bit shinier than the original, but even knowing the difference she could only spot it if she looked really close. 

She took a step back and quickly checked that she was looking her best. She brushed the non-existent lint from the black shoulders of uniform, and pulled down the front of her top. She tucked her white hair behind her left ear, then confirmed with herself that it was also sitting nicely over her right. She touched up her makeup, and fought the urge to make apply to much; her Aenar ancestry meant she’d always had paler skin than everyone else. Earlier in her life she always sought to blend in by darkening her skin tone with thick makeup. Now that she’d been in Starfleet for a number of years she didn’t feel the same urge with all the different species around her, but it was a habit that she still had to fight sometimes.

Happy that everything was ready, she left picked up her duffel bag, slung it over her shoulder and left her quarters on Starbase 47. She’d spent two years as part of the station’s engineering team. Though she’d miss the friends she’d made here, she was excited to finally be on a ship, out there exploring the galaxy.

Arriving at the shuttlebay, Jhamel saw a brunette woman in a command-department uniform looking over the runabout _Murrumbidgee_ , the ship her orders had mentioned. With her back to the shuttlebay entrance, Jhamel couldn’t see the woman’s face, but she was looking back and forth between the runabout and a padd she was holding and seemed to be making notes on, so Jhamel presumed that this was her new crew mate. Trying to start things off on the right foot, she walked up to her and introduced herself.

“Excuse me, are you Lt Rhodes?” Jhamel asked. “I’m Jhamel sh’Shran.” Though she was well aware of it, she hoped that Rhodes hadn’t noticed the slight delay in raising her hand for the human gesture of greeting they called a handshake. _If she was an Andorian she would have recognised the embarrassment in my antennae. Then again if she was Andorian I wouldn’t have been that embarrassed at my forgetfulness._

“I am,” Rhodes responded as she turned to face Jhamel. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Jhamel said slightly dumbfounded. If Rhodes’ face hadn’t caught her by surprise, she might have noticed the stronger than expected grip. _Not strong enough to hurt, but she’s definitely stronger than me,_ Jhamel thought.

What caught Jhamel surprise were the ridges on Rhodes’ forehead; she was looking at a Klingon woman in a Starfleet uniform. Everyone in Starfleet knew of Lt Worf serving on the _Enterprise_ , and it was common when moving to a knew posting to encounter a species for the first time amongst the crew, or at least a species that you’d not seen much of before. But its much more unusual to encounter a member of Starfleet that’s not from a Federation species. Though the Klingons and Federation were on peaceful terms, the history of tension and aggression between the two groups still made it unexpected.

Apart from the red colour where Jhamel’s was gold, the only difference in how the two women were dressed was the bronze coloured baldric over Rhodes’ right shoulder. It had some sort of crest on it roughly level with her comm badge that Jhamel didn’t recognise. Now that she was both aware of it and looking down to avoid the embarrassment from previously staring at Rhodes’ face, she noticed that the baldric seemed to sit off her left hip a little. _Must be where a holster for her tricorder is_ , Jhamel thought. Somewhat like Jhamel herself, N’Garan Rhodes seemed to have a lighter skin tone than most Klingons she’d seen. To be fair though, Jhamel hadn’t met too many Klingons, so maybe it was just the brighter lighting in the shuttlebay.

“Lemme guess,” Rhodes said with a sigh, “you didn’t know that I’m _**tlhIngan**_ , did you?” She turned back to the runabout and continued her inspection.

Jhamel’s antennae drooped a little at this, and she could feel the heat in her face as she blushed. “Yeah. I saw your name on my orders, but I recognised your family name as being human so just assumed... Sorry if I’ve made things awkward. You probably get this sort of reaction a lot.”

“I do, but that’s not your fault,” Rhodes said with a smile. She entered a note on her padd, which seemed to be the end of her preflight checklist. “Besides, I’ve been the odd one out all my life. I’m used to it - mostly - these days, and I’ve worked out that catching people off guard with my _**tlhIngan** _ side is a good way to get an insight to their character.”

“And what does my reaction tell you about me?” Jhamel asked, her antennae rising slowly to face Rhodes. She was a little curious about the Rhodes' pronunciation of 'Klingon'; she thought she'd misheard it the first time, but was sure there was subtle difference between Rhodes' pronunciation and seemingly everyone else's that Jhamel had met. She was desperate to ask about it, but thought there might be some sort of culturally-based explanation, and was worried she might stumble into an ice-bore den without realising it if she did ask.

Rhodes looked Jhamel over and smiled before answering. She didn’t know what it was, but something in the look made Jhamel’s antennae briefly shiver. “You seem to be a nice person, concerned that I might’ve been offended. If you’re a Tal Shiar agent, you’re hiding it well. Because of that, why don’t we start again fresh: I’m Lt N’Garan Rhodes, but call me N’Garan. It’s good to meet you, Lt sh’Shran.”

“Please, call me Jhamel,” she replied with a broad smile that matched N’Garan’s. “I look forward to working with you N’Garan.”

“Likewise. Anyway, if you’re ready to go, let’s get you squared away onboard and we’ll head out.”

N’Garan led Jhamel to the starboard hatch on the runabout. Jhamel went to the aft section to stow her bag, before joining N’Garan on the bridge. After completing the power up sequence, the two women looked at each other, confirming they were both ready to go, before Jhamel activated the comm system.

“This is the _U.S.S. Murrumbidgee_ to Starbase 47 flight control: requesting permission to depart.”

“Murrumbidgee _, permission granted,_ ” the deep male voice came back over the comm. “ _Sending you an exit path now. Smooth sailing,_ Murrumbidgee.”

Jhamel’s console pinged as the flight path data was received. She transferred the course to the helm and responded: “Thank you control. Exit path received, commencing departure in 10 seconds. _Murrumbidgee_ out.”

* * *

Two days later into their four day journey to Adelphous system, Jhamel was headed from her bunk to the cockpit to start her morning. The two women had worked out between them that Jhamel would take the first half of the night on watch while N’Garan would take the second half. Though the runabout was sophisticated enough to cruise at warp while on autopilot, given they were headed to a system close to both Klingon and Romulan space, they agreed it was best to have someone on duty just in case.

“Good morning, N’Garan,” Jhamel greeted as she walked across the transporter pad at the rear of the cockpit. “You didn’t have any problems I take it?”

“Morning,” N’Garan replied turning in her chair. “We’re fine, and the runabout is in great condition. I still like the Type-9 shuttlecraft, but this is a fine ship. And its a lot more comfortable for a long flight like this.”

“Agreed. I could get used to flying in one of these.” Jhamel moved over to the replicator and called out over her shoulder. “Can I get you anything?”

“Raktajino, but hot.”

“Computer: two raktajinos, one extra sweet, the other extra hot.”

After an acknowledging trill from the computer, two mugs materialised in the replicator, one with steam wafting from it. After walking to the forward consoles, Jhamel handed the steaming mug to the pilot and sat down at the adjacent station.

“Ooh, _**qatlho’**_ ” N’Garan said taking the mug. “That’s ‘thank you’ by the way in _**tlhIngan Hol**_.”

“Your welcome." Jhamel breathed in the scent from her mug and took a long sip. "I still don’t understand why, of all the languages, Klingon is the one that the universal translator handles so badly. I would've thought that Andorian would be tougher, as it can rely on subtle movements of our antennae."

After taking a sip of her own, N'Garan placed the mug down and entered some commands into her console. While still looking at it, she prompted with a smirk "Go on, ask your question."

By the ice, I need to work on my poker face. "What question is that?"

"Since soon after we met you’ve had this look on your face. I may not be able to read the ‘subtle movements of your antennae’, but I’m pretty sure there’s at least one question you want to ask me. My guess is you want to know something, but you’re worried at least one of us will be embarrassed by it. You don't have to be though: honestly, its kind of cute." As she said this, N'Garan looked over at the Andorian who seemed to be doing her best to disappear into her seat. Though normally a difficult enough task to achieve, the fact that her skin was now a deeper shade of blue than most Andorians’ normal skin tone was making it even more impossible.

"As adorable as your reaction is,” N’Garan continued, her tone now more apologetic, “I’m really not trying to make you uncomfortable. Its unlikely anything you ask me here will be something I haven’t been asked before. And I’m OK with all the usual questions I get. So please, get it off your chest now, and we can pretend when we get to the _Mawson_ that there was no awkwardness between us at all." She turned her chair to face Jhamel now, and apart from still sitting in her chair assumed the posture of coming to attention. She raised her right hand to head height and spoke as if reciting an oath. “I, N’Garan Rhodes, Tavanna _**puqbe’**_ , swear to never speak of any social -“

“Stop. I give in.” Though there was a pleading tone in her voice, Jhamel was smiling broadly as she swiped at N’Garan’s raised hand. N’Garan couldn’t maintain her straight face, and giggled as she easily avoided Jhamel’s ‘attack’. Well no matter how bad this goes, at least I’ll be able to say I got a Klingon to giggle. I doubt anyone will believe they giggled, Jhamel thought, but I’ll know it at least. “When we met and I was as smooth as a glacial fracture,” she said rolling her eyes, “you said something about having a Klingon side.” Despite the humour of the last few moments, Jhamel’s voice got softer and she spoke timidly. “What did you mean by ‘side’?”

“See, I told you it wouldn’t be a problem,” N’Garan said. “My mother’s _**tlhIngan**_ , but my father was human.” Jhamel noticed that N’Garan used the past tense, and the slight diminish meant of her smile at the mention of her father. Despite the obvious implication, it didn’t seem to be too sore of a subject. “He was stationed on the Tecumseh when it was sent to Narendra III as part of the Federation’s relief efforts. My mother was a survivor of the Romulan attack there. They met while she was recovering, and eventually one thing led to another.”

“Your father was in Starfleet?” The embarrassment was gone from Jhamel now, replaced by interest and curiosity.

“He was an engineer, Chief Petty Officer Stephen Rhodes.” N’Garan slowly spun her chair to face out the forward viewports, watching the stars streak by at warp. “Because I was raised amongst humans, I couldn’t not absorb the culture that was around me, but he was insistent that I also learn about my _**tlhIngan** _ heritage as well; my mother, Tavanna, wound up teaching us both.”

“Sounds like he was a great father. I ...“ Jhamel was interrupted by a beeping from her console. She turned to it and studied the read outs. “I’m picking up some sort of sub space signal. It might be some sort of communiqué, but if it is its very garbled.”

Rhodes looked over at the console from her own seat. “Anything you can do to clear it up?”

sh’Shran shook her head. “Not at this range. We seem to be at the edge of its transmission range, so at least some of the garbling is from signal degradation. I do have an approximate direction for its origin though: bearing 2-9-8 mark 3-6. It seems to be a continuous signal. My guess is that’s its some sort of distress call. If we alter course, it get clearer and we might be able to unscramble it.”

“Altering course to bearing 2-9-8 mark 3-6,” announced Rhodes. Outside the view ports, the stars briefly stopped streaking straight past the ship as it angled up and to port from its previous heading, before resuming their previous track. “We’d better let the _Mawson_ know what we’re doing.”

“Yeah, we wouldn’t want them to think we were running late for no reason.”

Though they didn’t know it at the time, that was the first of what would be a number of bumps on this mission.


	2. Descent

 

 

> Personal log, stardate 48397.2: Lt N’Garan Rhodes recording
> 
> After detecting a distress call while en route to our rendezvous with the Mawson, the Murrumbidgee has arrived at Xerxes IV. Lt sh’Shran and I have been able to confirm that the research outpost below is the source of the signal, but we’ve not made contact due to the ionic storm in the atmosphere which is also preventing us from beaming down. We’ve completed our preparations and are about to attempt to land the runabout; _**jIqaDlu’**_ \- this will be a challenge for me.

“Beginning our descent,” Rhodes announced as she entered the new course into the helm. The half-Klingon, half-Terran woman had a grin on her face.

“Raising shields,” said Jhamel sh’Shran in response. The confidence that had been in Rhodes' voice was completely absent in sh'Shran’s. The Andorian’s face was also a contrast to her colleague’s: her blue skin had paled to a shade lighter than usual where N’Garan could feel the slight flush of excitement in her own. Not that she noticed in the moment as she focused on the task at hand.

The runabout angled towards the planet, rotating on its long axis to orient itself to the planet’s surface. Initially the ship’s movement was smooth as it descended, though just as the sensors registered an increase in temperature from the atmospheric entry the ship was rocked.

“Just some turbulence,” Rhodes sheepishly said. “But it’s going to get rougher before it smooths out.”

As though on queue, both women were bounced in their seats as the ship was struck by lightning. An alarm blared indicating that there was more than superficial damage to the ship.

“Shields at 72%,” sh'Shran called out, with the hints of trepidation previously audible in her voice now replaced with barely restrained terror.

“Reinforce them with auxiliary power,” Rhodes instructed. Her demeanor had changed as well; the glee she’d felt at the coming _**qaD**_ , challenge, was gone. Now there was a grim determination about her. She realised now that the scale of the problem was significantly larger than she’d initially believed, and while she wasn’t concerned for the danger to herself, the _**quvbe’**_ , the dishonour from risking a crewmate’s life from her recklessness... “The storm’s more intense than the sensors suggested.”

To underline the point, the ship was shaken again even more intensely than before. The console behind N’Garan exploded, showering the two women in sparks as the cockpit started to fill with smoke.

“Life support is offline,” sh'Shran shouted over the noise. “Shields are down to 37%!”

“I’ve lost attitude control,” Rhodes reported. “Switching to manual.”

A sequence of lightning strikes hit the ship in quick succession, and new alarms sounded.

“Inertial dampeners are offline!”

“This is going to be a rough landing,” Rhodes warned as the ship was no longer really flying, and instead was more accurately dropping towards the surface now. “ _ **ghay'cha'**_! Brace for impact!”

Though correct, N’Garan’s assessment of the landing as ‘rough’ was an understatement. But it was more landing than crash - though both terms applied - largely through the pilot’s efforts. Eschewing her own advice to brace, she continued to work the helm, managing to level out the runabout’s descent somewhat, plowing through the landscape until both it and she came to rest.

* * *

When N’Garan came to, she couldn’t tell how long she’d been out for, but given the freshness of the smoke in the cockpit she didn’t think it had been long. She was also pretty sure that the sound of her mother’s voice saying her name in a disapproving tone was imagined. As her vision slowly came into focus, she realised that the sound of her name was not imagined but was Jhamel’s voice, and was more worried than disappointed.

She was also pretty sure that her right shoulder was dislocated. _Just because I’m Klingon doesn’t mean you get to skip taking me to dinner first_ , she thought to herself a little groggily. As she remembered that it wasn’t the morning after the night before but was instead the aftermath of her aerobatics attempts, she began to assess what the extent of her injuries were. _Yeah, dislocated shoulder, not sure if its a concussion but I definitely got my bell rung. But I think I get to classify this as a “good landing” because I can walk away_. Then she remembered she wasn’t the only one aboard, and that her colleague was the one calling out to her. “I’m here. You ok?”

“I’m fine,” Jhamel answered. N’Garan realised that she could also hear the sound of a tricorder being used to scan something. “How you managed to avoid anything more than a dislocated shoulder I don’t know, but I’m guessing you can thank your Klingon heritage.”

As she sat up and looked over at the Andorian lieutenant scanning herself, N’Garan realised that Jhamel didn’t seem to be seriously injured. There looked to be a cut over one eye that was only showing a small amount of blue blood, and her uniform was showing some wear, but it looked like she was ok. “I’ll be sure to thank my  _ **SoSoy** _ when I speak to her next,” N’Garan said. “You look like you’re in better shape than I am. Not that I’m disappointed, but how did you manage that?”

“Near as I can tell,” Jhamel answered, “I actually braced for impact while you decided to be a hero and keep fighting the storm to avoid us crashing. _**qatlho’**_ for that by the way. That is how you say it, right?”

“It is,” N’Garan conceded, both appreciating the complement of using _**tlhIngan Hol**_ and feeling guilty about putting them in the situation. “How bad is the ship?”

“I was too busy checking to see if you were dead to see about the ship,” Jhamel responded, closing the tricorder and putting it back in the holster at her hip. “You ready for me to fix that shoulder?” she asked with a tinge of concern.

“Sooner the better,” N’Garan answered as she weakly lifted her arm and turned her seat to face Jhamel.

“On the count of three, ok?” Jhamel asked as she grasped the arm. Getting a nod from the Klingon, she continued. “One, t-“ and pushed the arm back in its socket.

“ _ **Hu’tegh**_!” N’Garan cursed loudly, causing Jhamel to jump back, almost tripping over herself as her antennae went back almost flat along her skull. After a moment, N’Garan looked up to see Jhamel pulling out her tricorder, but from several steps away now. “I’m sorry, its ok.” She raised both hands up in front of her to try and calm Jhamel. She realised that the shoulder was now much better, and was sure it was back where it was meant to be. “I always forget how much that hurts. Nice job with the fake countdown. You’ve done that before?”

“Only in simulations back at the Academy.” Jhamel had calmed herself somewhat at that. “A friend who was going into medicine gave me a tip to do it that way. Apparently catching the patient off guard makes it easier to get it right first time, as they don't tense up as much.”

“Well let’s see how bad a condition the ship is in. That storm isn’t going to disappear anytime soon, and I don’t know how the runabout will handle it on the ground here.”

The two women began to assess the damage, and though it wasn’t good it also wasn’t as bad as it first seemed. Main power was offline, but that was a result of damage to the power conduits. The hull was intact, and though unable to draw power the main systems all seemed to have only suffered minor damage, all either easily repaired or in good enough condition to fly in their current state.

The issue though was that there was no power to those systems, and there wasn’t sufficient materials onboard to repair the power conduits. Ordinarily they’d be able to replicate any parts they needed for this type of repair work, but there was no power to use the replicator.

They knew the research base should have the materials they’d need. They also knew they had to get to the base to check on the science team there; the whole reason they were in this situation in the first place was responding to their distress call. With this in mind they gathered the gear they'd need, making sure they had both an engineering kit and a medical kit as they still didn't know the nature of the problem.

Opening the airlock, they surveyed the landscape before them. Trailing behind the runabout was a long furrow showing at least the last few moments of its journey, which included some tree stumps and broken trunks. N'Garan knew that there was some luck in having come down in an area that was as flat and sparsely wooded as they had, though depending on who was asking she might claim it was skill. The two women left the ship, closing the airlock behind them, and headed into the woods.

They had only made it to the second standing tree before N'Garan stopped still and cocked her head. She wasn't sure what had specifically set her off, but something was telling her that there was a hunter nearby.  _These instincts are another thing to thank my mother for, I suppose._ She turned to Jhamel, putting a finger to her own lips and signalled to crouch down behind a large rock. The confusion on Jhamel's face was quickly replaced with concern, but she followed the instruction and drew her phaser.  _Good to know she doesn't freeze up with fear. Hopefully we won't actually have to really test that out._

Now she had to work out what her instincts were alerting her to, and then what to do about it. She flattened herself against a tree, drawing her own phaser as well as her d'k tagh from its scabbard hidden beneath her baldric. She scanned the woods back towards the runabout but couldn't see anything drawing her attention; nothing moving, nothing out of place. Confirming for herself that if it wasn't imagined that the danger was in the direction they had been headed, she looked back to Jhamel. She signalled that she was going to head to the right of where they had been going, and that Jhamel should stay put but ready. Then she counted them down:  _T_ _hree, two, one, now!_

N'Garan darted out from her cover towards a fallen tree that she wasn't responsible for. She expected to be cut down before she got three steps away, but she kept taking strides in her run, finding the balance between staying low, staying quiet and moving quickly. No shouts of recognition, no weapons fire, nothing to indicate there was anyone or anything else in the vicinity; she slid into the cover of the fallen tree on her knees. Despite the evidence, her instincts kept telling her that there was danger. She desperately wanted to survey what was ahead of her, where she  _knew_ the danger was, but she stayed down and waited. If she had drawn attention, she had to wait for it to refocus elsewhere. She listened, but couldn't discern anything new about her surroundings. _I just don't know what this place sounds like to know what might be different._  She stayed down longer than she wanted to, desperate to be doing something, then waited another five-count before peeking over her cover.  _I've never wanted to be wrong as much as I do now._

**Author's Note:**

> A little while back I GM-ed a few sessions of "Star Trek Adventures", the RPG system by Modiphius. As part of that, I created a group of characters to round out the crew for my players. The game group broke up, but some of the characters stuck with me.
> 
> Any Klingon is from my own translation attempts, and I welcome any polite offerings to correct them.


End file.
